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ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
A96314 The Whig caball. 1682 (1682) Wing W1647; ESTC R213558 957 1

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THE VVHIG CABALL THe sullen night worn thredbare when I lay Expecting the approach of early day Such Loyal thoughts did in my bosom rage As drew my curses on this factious Age With tears I mourn'd our sinking Countrey 's fate And shadow'd glory of the royal State Till slumbring at the last a glim'ring light Methought was shown to my mysterious sight When I descry'd a Treas'nous damn'd Cabal Hells mounting Engins that would sink us all And rise upon our King's and Countreys fall Dark were their looks and knowingly I saw Villains they were and such as fled the Law Printers and those who had abus'd the times Religion was their Cloak to hide their Crimes Envious as Fiends like Hells Divan they sate What would Hell more to ruin Church and State So vile as these it never could appear Had the great Whig-land Lucifer been there When in an abrupt voice I heard one cry Romes Idol-York shan't gorge our Liberty Rowze up my Friends our Ruin's more than fear'd Their Bulls do roar so loud we can't be heard With that he paus'd then said with much distress What shall we do The Tyde of our Success Now seems to Ebb nor can we hope for less For even those will now believe no more Our Shams who judg'd them Miracles before Interest 's our Hook and Freedom is the Bait Bondage but nam'd you 'l see Rebellion strait Each weak Pretence deceives the easie crowd With them 't is Law what is by us allow'd But shallow are our Plots to searching eyes They see what mischief at the bottom lies Our Shrieffs and Jurys for their Ends-applause With Ignoramus Riots prop our Cause They doubt of Peace from those that break the Laws There our designs are desp'rate and so crost Bold the attempt must be to gain what 's lost Zealous Rebellion must secure us all We cannot fail while we pretend a Call With that like Fiends they Vanish'd and I woke Whilst all amaz'd and troubled thus I spoke O Wretched Land how prov'd thy curing Vain Sine thy old Wound is breaking out again The whole's endanger'd by th' infected part But Heaven instruct our great Physician 's art There 's one way left to heal this desp'rate wound Cut off the rotten for to save the sound Were there no cause for this now needful blow Religious Peace then through the Land would flow So Jehu Sion purg'd and Faith did grow But let 's Unite with pious joy to sing Health to the Best to Englands gracious King Blest may he be his Queen and Royal Bed And blest great James whilst all their Foes lye dead So we at last shall bruise the Serpents head LONDON Printed for Walter Davis in Amen-Corner 1682.